


not time's fool

by howverypeculiar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Engagement, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Marriage, Pining, mention of blowjobs lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howverypeculiar/pseuds/howverypeculiar
Summary: insp. by a dream @victorianfantasywatson on tumblr had on the bus. what a splendid mind!





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not fully happy with this, but the concept sounded so fun and original to me, i had to write it. i even googled the anatomy of a spoon so you know the lengths i go to in order to be accurate.

“Thanks, bye.”

Silently, the man sauntered out of the living room and the door shut gently behind him. 

“He’s into you.”

“For god’s sake, Sherlock, are you joking? Clients are always into you, not me. All genders, too.” John was trying to hide that this very resigned, yet obviously very hopeful man was pining for him.

“Thought he was rather lovely. That awkwardness and talking gibberish, you’d have plenty in common.”

“Charming. But he did not fancy me. The only people who think I’m attractive are assassins, liars and sociopaths, apparently.”

Realising what he’d just said, neither of them replied. A pause.

“…So are we taking his case?” John was crumpling inwardly, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“Don’t see why not. The unassuming ones always turn out to be the highest scorers.”

“Okay, but be gentle, Sherlock. His partner’s had an affair and now he’s left him and he’s feeling very delicate.”

 

~

“Chin-chin.” Sherlock grinned and raised his glass to meet his lover’s. 

“Cheers. I love you, Sherlock.”

It was quarter-past-seven later that Monday evening and Sherlock and John were having a night in their local. Sherlock’s hands were cradling a half of bitter and John was sipping a pint of viscous, flat lager. Tonight was a middle ground between a date and - well, not a date. Trying to have some sort of a celebration of their relationship, Sherlock thought it prudent to share a drink and a chat. They’d only been ‘official’ a month or so, and they were both loving it.

“I love you, too. Rather a lot in fact.” They exchanged flirtatious smiles and both swigged a mouthful of their less-than-moreish drinks. The conversation began with the meek man they met in 221b.

“I’d say that man’s really got the hots. Didn’t you see him leaning into you? Every word you said, his pupils dilated larger. I was holding his hands, remember. His pulse was so erratic, I wondered if he was going to have a panic attack or something. Could have been tachycardia but considering the calmness of his manner outside on the pavement, he was galvanised by you.”

“Jesus, Sherlock. While I’m flattered, well, we can’t have him thinking I’m- you know…available!”

The level of wanting any potential flirts to realise that he was taken and not interested was always this passionate. And, although it seemed less so on Sherlock’s part, he felt the same, albeit internally. Above all, John knew this, and Sherlock remained adamant that that was the most important thing to him.

“No. We can’t.”

“And you agreed to take his bloody case. Shit.”

“I’ll sort something out.”

“Please.” John lifted his glass to his mouth before wincing and scrunching his nose up disgust, then placing it down again. “You know what, this beer’s shite. Can we go home, love?” 

“Of course; this was a terrible idea.” They left the pub, the carpet clinging to the soles of their shoes, the thick, smoky air infiltrating their lungs.

~

Each time they met with Albert - they soon learned that this was his name - it got slightly more unbearable. His giddiness and coquettishness made John irritable and Sherlock protective and angered. They were still too apprehensive to drop hints, as they kept their relationship mainly behind closed doors. It saved them from the disparagement of Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson, who found it laughable. 

One day, after Albert had left, when they were both still sat in their chairs in a similar manner to the first day they met him, Sherlock announced, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Here we go. Tell all,” John replied, sighing.

“He doesn’t know we’re together. But he does know you’re gay-”

“Bisexual, actually, in all fairness,” John interrupted. Sherlock thought it odd that John was still truculent on the subject of his sexuality. “Carry on…”

Sherlock exhaled in impatience. “We need to pretend we’re married. To keep him at bay. It makes perfect sense. As soon as an admirer sees a connection elsewhere, they back off. We don’t do PDA, obviously, and this method is subtle. If he feels bad, it’s his problem.”

“Wow: savage.”

“Are you willing to comply? Come on, John.”

“It’s a bit bloody ridiculous. We can’t pretend we’re married! You can’t lie like that, to make someone feel that shitty.”

They came to the realisation in unison. 

“Well, even if you can, I’m not prepared to do that. It’s cruel!”

Sherlock made his signature face - the one that always made John crumble and give in. His angular countenance transitioned from a vehement determination to soft sincerity, his demeanour gentle and true. “Please. It’s for your own good, love.”

The word of endearment made John’s heart flutter, even after all this time. “Christ. Alright then, smartarse. We’ll try but I’m not promising anything.”

“Great! Fantastic!” Sherlock bounded from his chair, his figure moulded into the supple leather, and swished his hands through his glossy curls. John chuckled at his boyfriend’s enthusiasm and, frankly, his beauty, but questioned the logistics of his ‘plan’. After a few moments he spoke:

“So…how are you planning to go about this?”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling, I’m already there.” 

Sherlock strode over to the kitchen and whipped open the cutlery draw with vigour. Out he pulled two white gold wedding bands. He held them up triumphantly.

The sight alone made John’s heart stop. He rapidly reassured himself that it was for a case, it wasn’t real etc. 

“Where the hell did you get them? Bloody hell, you didn’t steal them, did you-“

“Did…a bit of a…deal…with the jeweller. I’ll return them when we’re done with Albert.”

“Right.” John thought he’d better not question any further. However, he couldn’t resist.

“You want me to wear one of those?”

“Yep. Here you go.” He passed one of the gleaming adornments to his partner. To prevent extreme awkwardness, he let John put it on himself, rather than give any false impressions. As John slipped it onto the designated finger he had all sorts of odd feelings. He quickly flushed them out of his mind and diverted his attention back to a random newspaper article his eyes found.

~

Marriage was such a peculiar concept to Sherlock. What was a wedding, anyhow? Two people who currently live together attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday and then carry on living together. What’s big about that? Mrs Hudson always said it changes people, even though Sherlock never believed it. 

John had been married before. Torn apart when it was over. It took none other than Sherlock Holmes to pick him up after that, and he couldn’t possibly fathom the idea of losing him like he lost Mary. Underneath, though, he knew he should never have married her. A marriage was what was comfortable, what he thought he wanted…but it wasn’t enough to live; only enough to survive. Trapped, lonely and looking for an immediate cure to his sorrow, he married her for safety and security. Within months he knew he didn’t love her enough. The Sherlock-sized gap that was burnt in his soul could be imbued by just him. 

However, marriage was something Sherlock and John never ever discussed. To John, it was glaringly obvious that Sherlock spurned the idea of lifelong commitment and was quite content with a relationship like he had with John. They were part of each other, neither of them whole without the other one. John’s opinion, Sherlock assumed, stemmed from how his last one ended, and he didn’t wish to divulge in something so consuming again.

~

“Here we go. Don’t bring it up, will you?”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

The first day at work after the ‘plan’ was initiated. The thing that was niggling on John’s mind up to this point was Scotland Yard’s reaction. All that would potentially stop the others noticing was not mentioning it. But trying to avoid the subject under the wrath of Greg Lestrade and his posse, who were forever on the lookout for clues as to their current relationship status, was futile. They had never explicitly confirmed that they were an item, but the others’ deductions were accurate enough that neither Sherlock nor John were required to do this.

They turned to face each other a last time, as if to say ‘once more unto the breach,’ and entered the offices.

“Alright, lads?” Lestrade questioned, declared and answered all at once, as though he meant “It’s a good day, I’m alright, how are you, don’t bother asking about me because I’m feeling great.”

“Lovebirds, more like. Domestic bliss?” The voice was not in sync with anyone’s mannerisms to Sherlock’s eye, but it was unmistakably the sarcastic tones of Sally Donovan. The obviously irritable woman emerged from behind the door to her office with a freshly made Cup-a-Soup. The ribbons of steam clouded her judgemental countenance - probably for the better.

“Yes, in fact, Sally,” Sherlock responded with self-assurance and no anger whatsoever (he thought).

“Ahem,” John interjected so as to prevent further interrogation. “Got anything interesting, Greg?”

“…Umm…” Greg pretended to rummage through some papers that maybe he could have passed off as having valuable information on, before saying, blankly; “Shit all.”

He looked at he two men stood rather awkwardly above him. Polar opposites, he thought to himself. He found it rather laughable, in all honesty. A flamboyant, camp gay man who sort of loves himself solving crimes and living with a grumpy, short, ‘not-gay’ man. It was curious to say the least. Yet, he quite liked it.

“You?”

The boys had previously agreed that Sherlock did the talking. “Er, actually, we’ve got one - an affair. He’s a…friendly…kind of - er, man.” Sherlock nodded and inhaled to make it clear that he’d finished his sentence, and someone break the silence, please. “Goes by Albert Strong,” he managed to force out.

“Ah. Right. Could be interesting, I suppose…” His disinterest trailed off.

All three men were silent. It was intolerable. Sally and Greg furtively looked at each other for mere moments. They were both utterly desperate to mention it. Sherlock and John were puzzled: the Yarder gang knew something that they didn’t. Sally gave in and slammed her brimming mug down onto the desk that Greg was slouching at, so much so that a globule of tomato-basil-crouton slosh fired out, right onto one of Lestrade’s papers of zero importance. Release was like an orgasm.

“Nice bling, guys.”

The ‘guys’ were slightly more than annoyed. Greg and Sally grinned at each other, a combination of their correct (although technically erroneous) guessing and Sherlock and John’s pissed-off reactions.

“Um. Thank you.”

“So you’ve tied the knot? In secret?”

“No, we have not, it’s…for a case-“

Donovan butted in, impressed and grateful of the gossip, beaming all the while as if to say “I bloody knew it!”

“Ooh, I bet it was really romantic. Somewhere warm? Tenerife? You looked into each other’s eyes, said ‘I Do’, then ran off into the sunset and gave each other head!”

“Sally!” While Lestrade found this equally hilarious, he did have a certain degree of decency. He was also a tiny bit intrigued. He couldn’t help it. He tried to get it out of them, but wanted to do it slightly less unsavourily.

“So…you’re…er, official?”

John thought it best that they just owned up.

“If you must know, then no, we are not married, alright?”

“You looked pretty married to me.” Donovan was just lapping it up, naive to any truth. She was just finding it hysterical.

“No, Sally, we are not! It’s a facade. For- for Albert’s sake, and ours. He fancies me - or rather, Sherlock seems to think so.” 

To say that Sherlock was 100% unamused by this whole thing would be a lie. He gave a hint of a smile and scrunched his nose while mouthing to Greg; he does. Greg nodded subtly and turned back to the bickering pair.

Sally had backed off. Meanwhile, John was flushing with rage. Sherlock reckoned it was because he was defensive, but John’s level of being agitated was more than could be attributed to only this. 

John tried to regain some of the dignity that he could have potentially lost and explained thoroughly and calmly why they were wearing rings, how they were going to return them tomorrow, and so on. Eventually, they got an apology out of Sally.

“Sorry, John.” She gestured towards Sherlock “Freak. I understand.”

“Okay, you two. We’ll look further into this Albert bloke. Unless you want to just take the wheel; it seems you’re getting on with it okay,” Lestrade affirmatively said.

“Yep, I think we’ll probably manage, won’t we, love?”, Sherlock directed at John, before reaching a leather-clad hand up to his lover’s shoulder to give it a loving stroke.

Coming round to himself he remembered that they were both still playing husbands on their left hands. John had forgotten about the wedding band; it seemed to have melded itself onto his finger, to the point that he had only just became aware again of its presence.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, should be fine.” 

The rest of the day was as normal. By the end of it, both Sherlock and John had near enough forgotten that that morning had ever even happened.

“Laters, guys,” Sherlock proclaimed, John following him. He proceeded to swing both doors open to the exit of the Scotland Yard building (which John thought was done in rather a godly manner) and swoop out onto the street. They needed to resolve Albert’s case, before anything else, and they had their hearts set on doing so.

~

“Thank you so much, Sherlock Holmes,” Albert enthusiastically exclaimed, vigorously shaking Sherlock’s hand. Gladly, Sherlock noticed earlier how Albert spotted the band on his finger, and had since become rather more reserved. As Albert crossed to thank John for his help, he simply patted him graciously on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. Watson.” Albert realised that John knew of his inclination, and being a decent bloke he stayed on the friendly side, rather than anything more.

“I hope you’re both happy together.”

“Same to you; you deserve it after all.”

“See you - thanks again!”

It was fairly late on that Sunday night in London - they parted at the end of Hungerford Bridge, and Sherlock and John simply gave each other knowing smiles, which were a mixture of relief, admiration of Albert (though they weren’t sure what for exactly), and, of course, love. Sherlock gestured John to hook his arm into his own, to which John gladly complied. As slow as they wanted, as time felt inexistent at this point, they strolled and gazed over the Thames as London stirred softly in its sleep. Neither man felt anything but pure contentment and adoration for the other. It was when Sherlock snapped back into the real life that he realised they’d forgotten about the ring situation.

“Oh, John, darling…I need to return the rings tomorrow.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, of course. Here - take it now so you won’t forget.” John coaxed the white gold band off his finger. Although it had long since passed dusk, the light from the life and the world around them was just enough for it to still look like it was glowing from within. He admired it for the last time and casually passed it back to Sherlock.

“Thanks…um…yeah, I’ll have to remember it tomorrow.”

“Haha. Yeah, that’d be awkward. We don’t want a repeat of earlier.”

Diverting the subject (sort of), John reached his hand that wasn’t occupied otherwise to Sherlock’s jawline and stroked it gently. “I love you. Thank you.” John stretched up ever so slightly further so that their lips could softly meet. It was a quick, casual peck. After the brief contact, they continued to amble and admire the view of London and her everlasting river, all the way until they reached Baker Street. It was a very long yet not arduous walk, but they both appreciated the warmth and glow of 221b when they did return. As ever, there was Martha, emerging from her kitchen with her wooden spoon (roundish, with a heart cut out of the bowl), tonight covered in something pinkish and creamy.

“Hello, loves. Nice day at the office? You look a bit rough.” She was never shy of saying it how it is.

“Splendid, Mrs Hudson. We’ve just walked most of the way back, taxis all looked a bit suspicious.”

“Ah, well it’s a good job you’re careful, now, love. John, you feeling alright, dear?”

“Yes, of course. Very alright indeed.” He looked up to his loved one. Mrs Hudson radiated pride and motherly compassion.

“Ah, my boys! Together! Isn’t it just wonderful?!”

“Most certainly is, Hudders.” John patted her lovingly on the arm. All three of the residents of 221 Baker Street were so much more contented as of late, with a love that was new and rare and special.

Gloves were pulled from numb fingers and scarves were unravelled. The couple’s weeknight regime commenced. Teeth were brushed, faces washed, pyjamas (or lack thereof) donned. 

“I have work from ten till four, tomorrow, love.”

“Okay. I thought we could maybe see a film or something if you like. I don’t have much work for tomorrow, yet.”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Good. Night, love.”

They shared a light, affectionate kiss and lay their heads down to sleep.

~

The misty grey of the morning enlivened into a clearer, whiter sky. John left for work fairly early, while Sherlock slumbered. When, again, he did rise, he immediately remembered what he needed to do today. 

As he swished his crisp shirt over his shoulders and onto his frame, he felt for the rings in the bedside cabinet where he’d deposited them the night before. Solid, and unyielding, and there. His heart sprung in his throat. 

I’ll just try it. Just for a bit.

He reached for one of the rings and lifted it to his hand. Gingerly, he slid the cool band down the fourth finger on his left hand. It belonged about the base of his proximal phalange; there was a ridge there that supported it. Feeling its comfort, he decided to keep it on. His argument was that it would do no harm, just to feel how marriage feels, right? 

~

The day breezed by as Sherlock sat at his microscope. He was deep in work. It was 3 pm, and no matter how engrossed in measuring amylase in samples of saliva he was he never forgot the time and how he must return the rings before John saw and humiliation ensued. 

All throughout today, he’d felt protected. He loved how it felt on his skin, how it warmed with his blood heat like it appreciated being sat on his finger this way. Sherlock wondered if the feeling of this piece of jewellery was a microcosm of the feeling of marriage. Maybe that's why people like wedding rings. Buy the blingy-est in the hopes of having a lucrative future.

He jumped so vigorously that he kneed the underside of the table and the slide on the microscope flipped and shattered.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!!!” John’s heart stopped equally and inhaled a lungful in shock and exasperation at Sherlock’s reaction.

“John! Fright of my life!”

“…Christ.”

“You said you’d be at home at four, it’s only three!”

“One of my patients cancelled and Yvonne said she’d cover the other for me. She knew I…”

Sherlock tuned out after a few words, in desperation of the knowledge of what to do. His eyes darted and he felt the hot blood rising to his face, piercing his cheeks and turning them crimson.

“...erectile dysfunction. Also I thought it'd be a nice surprise so we could go to the cinema a bit earlier. Jesus, I'm not that scary, am I?!”

A few moments passed of John looking for a reply in Sherlock’s countenance and Sherlock looking at the floor in a guilty sort of way. John hadn’t noticed, he didn’t surmise; maybe he could get out of it, he thought. But this was wishful thinking.

“Sherlock? You alright, love?” The gap in the curtains let the muted, yellow light into the kitchen and it situated itself on the crown of Sherlock’s hair, illuminating his nitid locks.

John rested a hand on Sherlock’s, to which Sherlock’s heart tightened and his mouth went dry. Immediately, John felt the rigid, cold metal tingle against his dry palm, and straight away he knew.  
“You forgot to return them. You’ll get into trouble! And I’m not getting myself blamed.” 

“Oh God, yeah, sorry, I…er, forgot.” His fingers fidgeted under John’s hand and he didn’t resist the impulse to flippantly lift his hand to look at the aforementioned piece of jewellery.

“Hm.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, ready to retort, yet no words came.

John spoke, purely to break the silence. “Do you, er…want to go and give them back…now? I can go now if you like-“

“Um…”

The awkwardness was unbearable. However, they both knew that each other knew. 

“You’re still wearing it.” They’d already established this, but the reasoning behind it was just made real by John.

“It…felt nice?”

John cocked his head to the side, looking away from Sherlock and biting his lip. He let out a tiny, breathy chuckle. “I see what you mean. I had one for a while, you know.”

John thought it erroneous to keep wearing the ring from his previous marriage once he and Sherlock voiced their feelings to one another. Since they’d started calling it a relationship, John knew it was a completely different experience to the one he’d shared with Mary. And maybe it was because marital ties were what he thought he needed to be whole again, and they weren’t. And the constant love and desire he felt for Sherlock were much more, so, so much more. It enriched his life and made him ask himself why the fuck he’d not gotten the hell on with it sooner.

He took a few steps closer towards his partner. God, he was gorgeous. It took all he had to refrain from running a hand deftly through Sherlock’s raven curls, only to go further and trace a fingertip down his soft lips, his geometric jawline, his pale, long throat, descending to his shirt buttons-

Snapping out of his fantasies - that was for later, he thought - he reminded himself he needed to speak. “Well - I liked it, too.”

“Honestly?” This was alien news to Sherlock. Oh my god, he wasn’t faking it. John’s idea of marriage was not, in fact, scarred by what once was, deadened by, well, death. John knew perfectly well why Sherlock always avoided the subject.

“Honestly. Sherlock, I loved Mary. I really did. But I was never in love with her. I loved her support and the comfort of getting married. I just thought, that’s it, now - no more loneliness and uncertainty. But then I realised it wasn’t what it had cracked up to be. By the end, it was toxic and abusive and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I really think we’d have got a divorce later that year if she hadn’t died. But I hung on until it was stripped from me. And I’m not saying I didn’t care that she died, bloody hell, it wrecked me, but I got over it. And then you and I happened. And that changed me and my perspective forever. You never realise what you need until you get it, Sherlock, and you are what I need. Damn, you are what I need.”

Sherlock understood every word but could not comprehend them in his head. That aside, however, it was so important to him not to leave John answerless. It was too important a moment. He hadn’t realised until now that in the process of John explaining his feelings, he’d ascended from his chair and was merely inches from his partner’s face.

“John…I’m…” His omniscient mind could not, for once, think of a reply. He never knew what was right in love, as he had never felt it before John. His constant need for affirmation was not a burden to John but Sherlock himself couldn’t see how it could be interpreted otherwise. Of course, how he used to feel about marriage, that was once his opinion, but people can change, can’t they? The last thing Sherlock wanted was for John to think that there was only so far they could go before being mainstream and tying the knot. He wanted to take it further. He always did, as soon as he realised how enamoured and completed he was by him. In short, he never wanted John to think there were limits to their love. Being married would be incomprehensibly good.

“It’s okay, darling. I know.” 

He knew. Thank god, of course he knew. They touched and within moments were ensconced in each other’s embraces.

“I never knew a right time to ask. Our relationship, it’s been everything I could have ever wanted,” he exclaimed over John’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I never explained, I made you do all the working out and I never reciprocated-“

“Shush. Stop right, there. Look at me.” They pulled away from one another’s cocoon of warmth, like two magnets being prised apart. The two glistening pairs of eyes locked. Both could feel each other’s warm, moist breath on their faces.

“You don’t need to apologise for anything. Not a single thing, okay? You’re beautiful. Please stop.”

Sherlock ducked his head into John’s wool-covered shoulder and let out tiny, searing sobs. John caressed his lover’s head and stroked his hair, as he so desired. It was inopportune to go further at this stage. A hug was what he needed. Of course, the least he could do what let him finish what he started and return the favour. 

Sherlock felt silly. He didn’t even know why he was crying. The serendipity of it all, he supposed. It took ages for anything to follow through, and now the relationship was bright and wholesome and right; it felt as if they’d never been apart. 

Sherlock raised his head to see his partner’s. John had puffiness and jewel-like tears below his misty grey irises, then one released down his beige cheek. Sherlock stroked a thumb over the teardrop so as to remove it. His countenance showed infinite empathy and concern for John. 

The corners of John’s mouth ascended into a small, albeit damp smile. Sherlock had always admired John’s ability to add positivity back into situations where it had been rid of such stuff. He had always stood by the fact that he was an unbeatable conductor of light, after all. They both straightened up and snickered quietly - a secret, treasured laugh, that was only theirs to keep. The sight of Sherlock’s many laugh-lines rippling against his cheeks made John feel infinitely warm and melty.

They were still loosely wrapped in each others’ arms.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready if you are, my darling.”

“I love you. Let’s get married.”


End file.
